It’s 10 p.m., and you’re two beers too sober,
Intimately familiar with the Lax team’s body odor,
When all of a sudden the dance floor becomes thick
As the DJ, in a stroke of genius, plays Taylor Swift.
The whole bar is dancing. You can only shudder
As hetero couples (for the night) accost one another.
You stand firmly in place as patrons pass you by,
Attempting (in vain) to catch the bartender’s eye.
Each shoulder and elbow jabs you as they go,
Not even your TA offers an “excuse me” or “hello.”
Now somehow you’re standing next to an ex-hookup,
Ranting endlessly about his (doomed) tech startup.
You attempt to look preoccupied so he gets the hint
That you couldn’t possibly give less of a sh*t.
Some student athlete’s dad is standing to your right,
So drunk from taking shots with 20-year-olds all night
That half of his beer makes its way into your lap.
He giggles an apology. “IT’S FINE,” you snap.
The thought of leaving by 11 seems sadly compelling.
You finally order a drink (overpriced, under-whelming),
Say cheers to dad and ex, and step away from the bar
Before conditions have the chance to get any more bizarre.
You step past half-lucid bodies and rejoin your crew,
Who, after your odyssey for a beer, forgot about you.
“Sorry, we couldn’t save your seat,”
They say as they text, not missing a beat.
You really don’t blame them, don’t feel disrespected;
This whole night has gone just as expected.
But you take a deep breath as the Boh settles in,
Spot someone tolerable and take it as a win.
You talk for six whole minutes before running out
Of classes and other people to talk about,
So you stand in silence (if you don’t count EDM remixes)
Clutching your drinks like they’re crucifixes.
Tomorrow you will wake up one day older,
Twenty bucks out and painfully hungover,
Wondering when you will get it through your head:
Next time “PJ’s is the move,” opt to stay home instead.
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